Chapter 5

I had expected Miss Zuo to become empress. The emperor had adored her for ten years, after all.

Instead, he named her Consort Hui.

Miss Zuo loved and hated openly and did exactly as she pleased. Nothing about her suggested the benevolence in that title.

As tender buds appeared on the willows and the weather wavered between warmth and cold,

my bedridden brother suddenly recovered.

Mother was delighted. She accepted an invitation from Chancellor Song’s household and told us to attend a plum-blossom gathering to lift our spirits.

It was less a poetry gathering than a great matchmaking party.

My brother was listless and still pale, but when he saw how eager I was, he came with me.

Since my sister-in-law’s death, we had scarcely spoken.

Whenever I saw him, I remembered the lights she had lit halfway down the mountain for me.

The red plum blossoms were brilliant that day, flames on the branches—and in my brother’s eyes.

He stared at one spot and seized my arm urgently.

“Qingzhu, look. Doesn’t she look like her?”

Look like her? Who looked like whom?

I turned and understood. Deep among the red blossoms,

a laughing girl in pale yellow stood surrounded by admirers.

Her features were remarkably like my sister-in-law’s, but livelier and more playful.

She was the chancellor’s daughter, Song Wanmei.

Of course. Why would a carefree chancellor’s daughter carry the grief of a fallen dynasty’s princess?

After that gathering, my brother lost his despondency. His illness might have been a dream.

He and Miss Song grew close.

He was tenderness itself. He took her kite-flying and hunted a rare little white tiger for her.

I wondered whether he had always been so gentle, or whether he was pouring all his feelings for my sister-in-law onto Miss Song.

Miss Song was not left reeling by my brother’s outpouring of affection, though it stirred her first feelings of love.

Then one day, holding her hand,

he looked at me with eyes overflowing with tenderness and said solemnly, “Qingzhu, this is your sister-in-law.”

A sudden bitterness rose inside me.

Looking at Miss Song’s bright, shining eyes,

I remembered a face that had seldom smiled.

My brother went to propose and delivered the betrothal gifts.

Miss Song would become his properly wedded wife.

Our parents were delighted with my new sister-in-law.

No. Perhaps they had never considered An Pingyao my sister-in-law at all.

Once my brother’s marriage was settled, it was my turn.

Mother and I agreed on someone decent and easy to get along with. An ordinary, peaceful life would do.

The man who had placed third in that year’s imperial examinations was handsome and upright.

He seemed a suitable husband.

Father was less pleased. The young man’s family was unremarkable and could do nothing for ours.

Mother called him heartless. He spent quite some time coaxing her out of her anger.

It all seemed such a nuisance. Better to stay unmarried and enjoy myself at home forever.

I decided to take my maid Xiuzhu out in search of something good to eat.

Ever since I became Miss Xu again, going out had been far less convenient than it was for Minister Xu.

I could not understand why a woman leaving the house had to be such a production.

The Drunken Immortal Pavilion was said to serve exquisite pastries, with flavors found nowhere else. I had long wanted to try them.

Unfortunately, only one steamer of their signature jade-green glutinous rice cakes remained.

I was about to pay when a small, pale hand beat me to it, tossing silver hurriedly onto the counter.

“I’ll take them.”

I looked up and burst out laughing. Miss Song.

She wore ill-fitting men’s clothes and a crooked false mustache.

Her maid followed helplessly beside her and gave me an embarrassed smile.

Clutching the rice cakes, Miss Song looked as proud as a little cockerel.

“I got them! I’ll take them to Qingzhu.”

Then she saw me, also dressed as a man, and blushed scarlet.

“Qingshan! What—what are you doing here?”

Xiuzhu couldn’t help laughing.

Only then did Miss Song realize I was Qingzhu, not Qingshan.

I was a little shorter, after all.

She blinked in amazement, astonished by our resemblance.

That afternoon, we split the steamer of cakes and ate until our stomachs were round.

Looking at her, I thought Song Wanmei was like a dewdrop on the tip of a newly unfurled lotus leaf, clear and sparkling.

An Pingyao had been the moon behind thin clouds, cool and gentle.

How had my brother found two such different women alike? How had he loved them?